The Taste of Friendship
by coastal-spirit
Summary: On a flight home, Kyouya ponders his friendship with Tamaki. Slight Kyouya/Tamaki, but only if you have your slash glasses on. Warning: This contains spoilers for Chapters 50-57 of the Ouran manga.


As the plane ascended from the Paris airport and reached cruising level, Kyouya's exhaustion set in. He hoped that he could sleep for most of the long flight back to Tokyo relatively undisturbed. Part of his exhaustion was purely physical, as he had been quite severely sleep-deprived for the last couple of days. However, the other part was emotional. A mere 24 hours ago, Kyouya had felt strongly that he was about to fail at the task he had set himself; and the very thought of failure by the third son of the Ootori family was a thought that was both repugnant and unacceptable to him. He had not failed, however; but had succeeded in a way that had exceeded even his own expectations.

This accomplishment had been a juggling act, skillfully performed on his part. His father had directed him to use his free time to contact several business associates. He had managed to do this, while still finding the time to conduct his search; however, in the process, he had exhausted his resources, his manpower, and himself. He knew what his father would think if he knew that Kyouya had expended so much time, money, and energy racing all over France in search of a woman who the exalted head of the Suou empire so thoroughly despised. Kyouya's father would be very angry indeed if he were to find out; but he never would. Kyouya had, of course, made sure of that. The thought of his secret rebellion was like a piece of French chocolate melting on Kyouya's tongue – dark, sweet, and very satisfying, with just an underlying hint of bitterness.

Finding word of Tamaki's mother was something that Kyouya had wanted to do; no, something that he had been _compelled_ to do to set Tamaki's mind at ease, and the reasons for this compulsion were not clear to Kyouya, even now. Perhaps it had something to do with the words he had spoken to the woman not 24 hours before, words that surprised him now, but that had seemed very natural at the time: "_my best friend"_. Kyouya didn't have friends. His father had been sure to instill in his youngest son the firm conviction that people were only to be used to further his own interests; and that friendship for friendship's sake was a waste of time. Tamaki had changed that. Not only had Tamaki become his friend, but with the creation of the Host Club, the other members of the club had become Kyouya's friends as well.

Perhaps the ease with which Kyouya had spoken those words had something to do with Ann-Sophie – Tamaki's mother – herself. Kyouya was always unfailingly polite to his elders, but this was something else altogether. Ann-Sophie had a way about her that prompted him to let down his guard and invited him to confide in her. Her resemblance to Tamaki in looks and manner had drawn him to her, as he was inexplicably drawn to Tamaki. There was something else: Ann-Sophie had exuded an aura of kindness and warmth that had tugged at the edges of Kyouya's memory and reminded him of another woman – a woman with dark hair and grey eyes much like Kyouya's own, whose picture sat on a shrine in the Ootori house. Kyouya intuitively felt that this woman would have very much approved of her youngest child having a best friend.

Kyouya had already planned how he would go about breaking the news to Tamaki. He would give the others their gifts, and Tamaki would undoubtedly go into a sulk, thinking that Kyouya had forgotten him. And then, quite casually, Kyouya would tell the others of a woman he had met in France, a beautiful, blonde woman who had a dog who looked very much like Antoinette. This woman was separated from her son, Kyouya would say, but she thought about him every day, and hoped that he was living happily in Japan. Kyouya would say that she was no longer sickly or frail, but that she was living in the country, and had become healthy and strong. Kyouya imagined what Tamaki's reaction would be. The idiot would probably cry with happiness. This thought was like a French pastry melting in Kyouya's mouth – warm and sweet and immensely satisfying; containing multiple layers, and not even a hint of bitterness. He settled down in his seat and fell asleep.

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Ouran Koko Host Club belongs to Hatori Bisco and Hakusensha; English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Shojo Beat/VIZ (manga). This piece of fiction is in no way approved or endorsed by any of the copyright holders.

Comments, constructive criticism, and praise, however faint are all greatly desired.


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